


Tuck me in

by Gimmesumsuga



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dom Misha, Drunk Sex, F/M, French Kissing, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8104192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmesumsuga/pseuds/Gimmesumsuga
Summary: A >6000 word smutty one-shot.  PWP.  Not sorry.First time with Daddy!Misha.  Misha and Reader are work colleagues (AU). 'You don’t know how you ever turned into this massive cliché.You’d been pre-advised that getting hammered at the Christmas party was the only way to get through it, so you’d taken to your task with gusto.  Wine, Amaretto, Cider, Gin… whatever anyone had wanted to buy, you drank it.And so here you are, flung over your boss’ shoulder as he carries you upstairs to your bedroom because you’re apparently too drunk to get there yourself.'





	

You don’t know how you ever turned into this massive cliché.

You’d been pre-advised that getting hammered at the Christmas party was the only way to get through it, so you’d taken to your task with gusto.  Wine, Amaretto, Cider, Gin… whatever anyone had wanted to buy, you drank it. 

And so here you are, flung over your boss’ shoulder as he carries you upstairs to your bedroom because you’re apparently too drunk to get there yourself. 

Well, he’s not really your boss, more of a supervisor but he’s worked there for years, so even though Misha can act like a total goofball sometimes everyone still follows his lead.

“You’re _strong!_ ” you observe with a giggle as he rounds the top of your stairs, and at that Misha laughs too. 

“Helps that you’re hobbit-sized,” he chortles, pausing on the landing.  He rotates on the spot, trying to figure out where to go.

“I am NOT!” you shout reproachfully, but you point your finger toward the correct door anyway, hair swinging back and forth from where you hang upside-down as he starts to walk again.  “And I do not have hairy feet.”

He just laughs again and presses it no further; a wise choice, you’re stubborn at the best of times, never mind when you’ve had a ‘few’ drinks.  Misha puts you down at the end of your bed and you sway a little as your feet meet the ground, trying to acclimatise to being the right way up again. 

“Ta-da!” you say, holding your arms out wide, as if keeping yourself upright is something worthy of celebrating.  He humours you, grinning back so widely that you see each of his perfect little teeth, cheeks and eyes crinkling.

“Well done,” he praises and you nod with satisfaction, your smile quickly turning into a yawn before you’ve even managed to lift your head again.  You abandon the idea of changing into pyjamas; you’re not sure you’d be able to co-ordinate yourself enough to get into them anyway, so you climb onto your bed fully clothed and crawl your way up to the pillow while Misha watches on. 

“You don’t want to brush your teeth?”  he asks, probably hinting at its necessity.  You open one eye to look back at him stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded.

“S’not like anyone’s kissing me in the morning,” you answer dismissively, waving a hand in his direction as you chuckle, closing your eyes again.  Did your pillow always feel this blissfully soft?

You’re not sure how much time passes – you probably fell asleep for a second or two – but at some point you feel Misha pull your duvet gently up over your shoulders and smooth it out.  You roll onto your back when he removes his hands and prise your sleepy eyes open to look up at him. 

He’s leaning over you in bed, a half concerned, half amused look on his face, and when he pushes a piece of hair back out of your eyes you can’t help but think how handsome he looks.  It’s a thought you’ve had before and a thought you’ll no doubt have again, but not one you’ve ever thought to share. 

Misha’s never seemed like he’s interested in you that way.

“Thanks for tucking me in,” you tell him with a silly smile and that adorable grin of his appears in answer.  You reach up and sling your arms around his neck without thought, pulling him in to smooch a sloppy kiss of gratitude against his stubbly cheek.  You’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately pull away when you loosen your grip.  Surprised, but pleased. 

“Do I get a bed-time story too?” you ask softly, nuzzling your nose to his jaw and inhaling the scent of him as you go.  He smells like the spiced rum he’s been drinking all night; that and something gorgeously warm, like clean laundry fresh out of the drier.  “Daddy?” 

You added it as a joke, a tease, because the last person who tucked you in probably was your Father, and that was so many years ago that you can’t even really recall it.   And Misha is quite a bit older than you – not old enough to be your Dad but not that far off, not if he had you when he was really young. 

In any case, you didn’t mean it to spur this reaction. 

He pulls back rapidly, not far but just enough to slacken your grip around his neck and look at you properly, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown, eyes darting back and forth between your own.  You almost forget what you just said and what’s happening and why he looks so confused, because you’re just so caught up in the colour of those eyes.  It’s like looking at the ocean through crystal glass…

“If you were mine,” he begins carefully, and god, the ownership he puts in that word – it sparks longings you didn’t even realised you had, “If you were my daughter, I’d be very disappointed in you tonight.” 

You’re tongue-tied and breathless, unable to muster a response because you’re drunken brain can’t quite figure out what’s happening.  Is Misha mad?  Is he really disappointed in you?  It doesn’t seem like it… he certainly doesn’t _look_ angry.  Hungry seems a better word; his gaze fixed on your mouth and wet tongue moistening his own. 

“Getting drunk,” he continues, obviously realising you’re incapable of coherent speech right now, “Flirting with Jensen.”  His hands find your wrists where they’re crossed across his neck and close around them, calloused and firm, “Dancing with Jared.  And Matt.  They all want you, you know?” 

No, you didn’t know.  Sure, you get on well with everyone at work, but want you?

He pulls your arms from his neck and pins your wrists on either side of your head, still leaning over your body that’s starting to heave with the ragged, excited breaths you’re taking. 

“And then you ask me to take you home.  You let me put you in bed.  Don’t you understand how vulnerable you are right now?”  His voice becomes increasingly rough as he speaks, wrecked, pupils expanding with every word to hide that beautiful blue.  It’s all you can do to hold eye contact and try to keep breathing, pulling oxygen in past the bottom lip that you’re biting. 

“Was that smart?  Was that good behaviour, baby girl?” 

Oh holy mother of fuck. 

An involuntary moan escapes you as your body twists all of its own accord, incensed by Misha’s words, pulling against his restraint, and when you finally manage to pull open your eyes again you find him watching you with amusement, an eyebrow cocked.

“Do you think Daddy’s pleased when you misbehave?” he prompts again, abandoning that playful twinkle for a blistering heat instead, expression turning serious and _hot._  This time you manage to keep still, biting down on your lip again and pressing your thighs together when you realise how badly you’re aching there. 

“No,” you answer softly, looking up at him from under your lashes.  His eyebrow goes up again, expectantly, and you know instantly what he wants to hear you say.  “No… Daddy.”   He looks triumphant when that word comes out of your mouth, pressing his eyes together for a moment as if to let it sink in, and when they open again you’re certain there’s no going back from this tonight. 

He climbs onto the bed and sits himself astride your hips with no invitation, the denim of his jeans straining against his wide stance and pulling tight across his crotch, which, for some reason, you can’t stop looking at.  He lets out a soft sigh as he relinquishes his hold on your wrists and cups your face instead, thumbing each of your cheekbones as you stare back up at him soundlessly, obediently.

“You’re so pretty though,” he says wistfully, “So pretty and perfect for me.”  Misha takes hold of your bottom lip, pulling it out from between your teeth and pinching it for just a second.  You don’t have to look in a mirror to know it’s swollen, pouty and full with blood and begging to be kissed.

“Mish-“ you start, then quickly correct yourself, “Daddy…” You say it imploringly, still lucid enough to seek him out with your newly freed hands.  Your fingers find the seam of his shirt and you finger the buttons, eager but not quite brave enough to undress him the way you’re longing to. 

“What do you want baby girl?” Misha asks gently, taking hold of one of your hands and lifting it to his mouth.  He nudges the pointed tip of his nose against your palm and then presses a kiss after kiss to your wrist, to the junction of skin between your thumb and forefinger, while he waits for a reply. 

It’s so hard to formulate one while he’s doing that, when every touch of his lips is sending electric pulses straight down your arm and into your groin. 

“Kiss me,” you blurt out as soon as you brain can fix the words together, “Please.”

“Can you be good for me?”  His mouth quirks into a sideways smile against your wrist as he says it, his eyes still closed, thumb massaging the inside of your forearm.

“Yes,” you agree breathily.  You’d agree to anything he wanted right now, just to have his mouth on yours and see if his lips really feel as pillowy soft as they look.   He lets your wrist drop and follows it downward, pressing his chest to yours and leaning in close, barely an inch away.   

“You’ll do as your told?”  You swallow hard.  When did your throat get so dry?  You can feel Misha’s heart pounding hard through his shirt, against your chest, galloping like your own. 

You start to nod but don’t even make one full motion up and down before Misha crashes his lips into yours, simultaneously fixing both of his hands in your hair and using his grip to drag you closer, harder against him.  Anh oh, they are so soft but so insistent, barely giving you space to breathe. 

You kiss him back just as hard, trying to let him know just how badly you want him and for just how long.  Why did he never say anything sooner, why didn’t you?  So much wasted time that could have been spent doing _this._

You grip onto his angular shoulder blades, digging your fingertips into the thin cotton of his shirt and resenting it for still being there.

“Take it off,” you mumble against his lips and he starts to laugh, blowing his breath all across your face.

“Be patient, little girl,” he rumbles back, pecking a kiss to the corner of your mouth and then onto your nose, your cheek, your forehead, covering you in tiny little kisses.  It’s so sweet and out of place and so… Misha, that it makes you giggle happily, pressing your eyes closed so he can kiss your eyelids too. 

“I love that sound,” he tells you when you open your eyes again.  He’s gazing down at you affectionately, fingertips caressing your scalp, and his adoration is so intense and unexpected that it makes you smile shyly, shrugging your shoulders because you can’t think what to say.  

Kissing is better than words anyway, so you tilt your head up and find his mouth again.  This time Misha’s tongue plunges eagerly into your already open and groaning mouth, warm and rough as it slides along your own.  You’re too enthusiastic and drunk to co-ordinate yourself properly, your teeth clashing, but it doesn’t deter him at all.  If anything it urges him on. 

His hands start to roam as he kisses you, deeper and hotter than you’ve ever been kissed before.  They slide down your throat, calloused fingertips stimulating every nerve as they go till he yanks down roughly on neckline of your dress.  The satin creases under your breasts, exposing your lacy bra and soft slope of your chest that Misha wastes no time in cupping with his palm. 

It feels good enough to have him groping you through lace, through padding, but when Misha slips his hand into the cup and pulls your breast up and out, still abusing your lips with his, the pleasure thrumming through you spikes.

“God…” you mumble breathily when he finally lets you up for air, your wide eyes staring at cream ceiling.  You can barely believe that this is real, that Misha’s teeth are scraping their way down your neck, but you know this isn’t just some alcohol-induced fantasy.  There’s no way a dream could ever feel this intense, you’d never imagined he’d know just how to pull and roll your nipple between his fingers in a way that has you bending and bucking beneath him. 

His lovely mouth encroaches on your naked breast, laving his tongue against soft, supple flesh as he goes.

“Such lovely little tits,” Misha purrs appreciatively against them.  His talented fingers abandon your breast to grab at your waist instead and your nipple becomes enshrouded in warm wetness as his parted lips form a vacuum around it. 

You pull your eyes from the ceiling and tilt your chin down to watch him through a haze of pleasure.  Misha’s so concentrated on his task, eyes shut tight as he licks and laps enthusiastically.   He looks gorgeous, his hollowed cheeks covered with rough stubble, dark hair threaded through your encouraging fingers. 

He sucks hard and then grabs the sensitive nub with his teeth till you yelp, shocked and thrilled by the pinch of pain he sent shooting through you. 

“You like that baby girl?” he grins devilishly up at you from between your breasts, pushing the other up and out its lacy prison too.  Heaven forbid he should leave either of them neglected. 

You nod, mute except for the heavy pants that drag in and out of you, and Misha’s smile grows wider with satisfaction. 

“Will you do something for Daddy?”

“Anything.”  Your reply is instant; you didn’t even need to think about it before the word is already tumbling from your mouth. 

He straightens up, the heavy weight of his chest lifting from you, and says nothing as he starts to shimmy forward.  His eyes never leave yours, though, as he makes his way further up your chest.  His nimble fingers undo his belt, the metal buckle clinking as it falls open, and as his knees come to rest on either side of your shoulders, crotch directly in front of your face, he slowly unbuttons his fly. 

You almost forget to breathe.

When you do, when he’s reaching into his scarlet red boxer shorts and pulling out his cock; long, thick, _dripping_ with excitement – you’re overwhelmed by the scent of him.  You want to lean your head forward, nuzzle your face into his short, wiry pubic hair, just to smell him all the more, but it’s an effort just to stop worshipping Misha’s cock with your eyes and move them to his face instead.

He curls his thumb and forefinger around the base of it, lowers it toward your lips with a look on his face so scorching hot that you feel like you might melt to nothingness beneath him. 

“Open wide,” Misha says, a growled demand rather than a request, and again you immediately oblige.  Your body doesn’t seem to need to wait for your minds permission anymore, lips falling apart automatically, offering him an invitation inside that he doesn’t hesitate to accept. 

He slowly guides the swollen head into the hot cavern of your mouth, humming approvingly as he does, and you drop your tongue to make room for him, try to slacken your throat and breathe through your nose, willing him deeper.   He doesn’t slide any further in, much to your disappointment, instead he withdraws his cock and seems to delight in smearing your saliva and his pre-cum over your lips with a deadly smile on his face.

You wait, trying to be patient but feeling anything but, desperate to really taste him on your tongue.  You’ve not sure you’ve ever been so impatient to suck dick before, but God, you’re struggling to think of anything sweeter, your mouth watering with want.  So you lie there, mouth open, lips pouted, letting Misha paint you with his cock, trying not to lick the salty trail he leaves behind.

Finally, _finally_ , he starts to nudge into your mouth again, but damn it, he’s being too slow!

You groan, mouth frustratingly half-full, and can’t help yourself anymore; you grasp onto Misha’s denim clad buttocks and push.   His hips cant, you tilt your head up, and in one smooth motion he falls into your mouth to the very hilt. 

“Yes…” he hisses between clenched teeth as it happens, his eyes scrunching closed, bracing himself with hands clenching the pillow on either side of your head.   You gag as he pauses there, your mouth stuffed full of his cock, but even though your eyes start to water you can’t bring yourself to care.   He tastes… divine.  Better than you’d ever imagined he would, and you’ve spent a lot of time considering what it’d be like if Misha ever got you on your knees. 

He starts to move, and any thoughts of discomfort you’d had just fade away in a symphony of his heavy breathing and the obscene, wet sound of his dick slipping back and forth between your slick lips.  He cups the back of your head with one hand and helps to supports you as he fucks your mouth, slow and purposeful.

“Open your eyes little girl,” you hear him call, “Look at Daddy.”  You weren’t even aware you’d closed them; too caught up in the taste of him, in running your tongue along the underside of his shaft as it pulls back and forth.   You wrench them open as he slows his pace even more, and when your eyes meet the corner of his mouth flicks up into a wicked smile.  “Good girl,” he praises, voice gravelly rough and shooting straight to your groin. 

You moan around his dick.  He purses his lips at the vibration. 

“Wish you could see how you look, baby girl.   Daddy’s cock shoved in your mouth,” he tells you once he collects himself, dark eyes flicking down to look himself before locking with your eyes, “You like Daddy’s big cock don’t you?”

You’re not sure how you’re supposed to reply with your mouth full, so you shut your eyes again instead and set about showing him just how much you love it, redoubling your efforts.  You suck hard and try to ignore the ache of your jaw, push his foreskin back with your lips and tongue the delicate head, lave your tongue across the slit.  Suck, slurp, swallow, try to breathe.

All the while you’re egged on by the sound of Misha coming apart, of his breathing becoming more and more shallow, the weight of him on your chest feeling heavier as he loses himself to it and thrusts in earnest, fast and deep and hard into your mouth.

It doesn’t take long till you feel him growing even harder.  You start to think that this might be it - that he’s going to cum - so you try in vain to look up at his handsome face, desperate to memorise the way his face looks when it’s contorted in pleasure, but it’s an impossible task when he’s sat the way he is; his groin is directly over your face so all you can see when you look up is the dark trail of hair on his tanned stomach disappearing up and underneath his shirt.  Not that that’s a bad view, by any means.

You can picture him, though.  You know he’s holding onto the metal bars at the head of your bed for leverage by the way that ring he always wears on his middle finger is clinking with each thrust and clench of his fists.  You imagine he’ll have his head tossed back too, eyes scrunched closed heavenward, mouth open as gateway for the shaking breaths stuttering out of him. 

Just as you think he’s going to give in, as the most delicious groan you’ve ever heard echoes around your room – he slows again.  Stops himself. Pulls back, circles his hips, pushes in once more, deep and slow.

You moan your disappointment around his cock, flexing your fingertips into his the seat of his jeans to try to get him to pick up his pace again, but he resists, chuckling softly.  One more thrust; you suck hard, try to keep him in your mouth by suction alone, but he draws himself free with a wet ‘pop’ and reserves down your torso to sit on your stomach again.

He smiles, a sideways, satisfied smirk when you pout.

“Hmm,” he purrs thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side and reaching down to run his thumb down your cheek and then over your pout, pulling it loose, “That was good, baby, good job.”  Misha’s eyes drift down your throat, his hand following it, fixing around your neck.  “You’re gonna love drinking my cum.  You’ll beg for it.”  He squeezes lightly, just for a second, delicious pressure against your jugular that makes your hips flex up from the mattress.

The movement of your lower limbs, the shifting of your weight, it pulls your limited focus straight back to the slick, warm wetness you can feel collecting between your legs.  It’s everywhere, soaked through your underwear and smeared on your upper thighs, and God, your clitoris is _throbbing_ with want.  It’s screamed to be touched, your pussy aching to be filled. 

Misha must be able to see the desperation on your face, must notice the way you’re almost biting through your lip in frustration as he toys idly with each of your nipples, but it does nothing to hurry him along.  He’s taking his time, you realise, enjoying each and every mewl and moan he can tease out of you – and there are many.

“Can I?” you ask as you rotate your hands round from his buttocks to the front of his shirt, back to those fiddly little buttons.  He doesn’t stop you as you try to unfasten the first one, trying and failing because your hands are too clumsy from the alcohol and too hasty in your excitement, and when you glace up to him you see him watching with an indulgent, patient smile, head tilted to the side.  It makes you blush and pause your efforts, embarrassed by your own ineptitude.

“Daddy will help,” Misha soothes, gently removing your hands and guiding one of them down to where his cock still stands, proud and upright, from the top of his boxers.  You wrap your palm around it under his instruction, and the first few slow strokes you give are in tandem, his hand encasing your own and showing you how to do it just so, just as he likes. 

Once he’s sure you’ve got it, once you can feel him start to rock his pelvis into your hand encouragingly, he lets go and sets about the task of undressing himself.  He’s so calm, all cool confidence as he swiftly unbuttons his shirt with his long, delicate fingers.  You delight in making that mask slip, smiling to yourself when he has to press his lips together when you squeeze the head of his dick, milking every drop of pre-cum you possibly can. 

When he lets his shirt fall from his shoulders, when he throws it casually to the floor, you feel your breath catch in your throat.  You’d had a sneaking suspicion that Misha would have a good body – he’s always talking about the charity marathons he does – but you’d never anticipated _this_.  He’s all long, lean muscle under taut skin, his abs rippling as he rolls his hips forward, and you’re transfixed.  You take him all in with hungry, greedy eyes, your free hand moving of its own accord to grip onto a jutting hip bone.  He’s so narrow but so… solid. 

Suddenly he moves – he climbs off of you, kneeling to the side, and starts to pull at the sleeves of your dress. 

“Let’s get you ready for bed,” he mumbles quietly to himself, his gaze fixed on his task.  You help him, pulling your arm out of each sleeve in turn, and then his weather-worn hands are peeling you out of your dress.  He slithers the soft material down your stomach, over your hips, the heat of his stare setting alight each inch of skin that’s exposed until your dress is flung aside too. 

He leans over you and starts to kiss you again, tongue slipping easily into your open and waiting mouth as he slides his hands under your back and undoes your bra clasp with impressive speed.  You pull it off for him, hear it clatter into your wardrobe doors as you throw it away, and the sound makes Misha smile against your mouth as your devour each other. 

You grab onto his jeans and boxers with both hands and tug downward as he’s doing the same to your panties – you’re both all hands and tongues and groaning into each other’s mouths – and when you fix Misha’s cracked bottom lip between your teeth, grinning, he pulls back.  He snarls, dark eyes flashing, top lip curling and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.   

Misha’s jeans won’t go any lower than his thighs, not while he’s kneeling, but he has no such problem in stripping you out of your underwear.  When they get to your knees you pull your legs up for him to slide them down your calves, your feet and off, and while as does you notice those bright blue orbs of his fall directly to the newly exposed, arousal slickened skin. The walls of your pussy clench in response. 

“Look at that,” he says wistfully, trailing one singular fingertip from your knee and up along the inside of your thigh.  It’s so hard not to squirm, but you try your best to keep still and be a good girl, panting with expectation.  Naked and pale and vulnerable under Misha’s appraising gaze.  “You’re making such a mess, baby girl, your cunt is _dripping_.”

“Please,” you whisper as he reaches mid-thigh, skips the junction between, and goes back down the other side with his torturous touch.  Doesn’t he understand how badly you need him?  Can’t he see how you’re trembling from wanting so much?

“Please what?” he asks softly.  Back up again, across, down the other leg. 

“Please.”  It’s starting to sound like a whimper, and the back of your throat starts to ache as you realise you’re suddenly close to tears, burning up with frustration and need so intense that you could weep.  “Please Daddy.”

A singular tear falls slides sideways from your eye, cool against your flushed skin. 

“Oh little one,” Misha breathes, abandoning his touch and taking hold of your face in his hands instead, leaning in so close that his nose touches yours.  Your chin trembles.  “Don’t cry, you’ve done so well, been so good for Daddy.”  He presses his lips to the salty line that your tear made, laps it up, cooing and nuzzling, hands stroking through your hair, cherishing you, his little girl, until the shaking stops. 

He leans up and sits back next to you, bolt upright, and shucks his remaining clothes off, kicking them to the end of the bed so he’s just as gloriously naked as you are.  God, even his legs are beautiful with his thick, golden thighs and runner’s calves. 

“Come here,” he beckons with an inclination of his head, legs parted and lazily stroking his cock, teasing it back to full mast, “Come sit on my lap, Daddy’ll take care of you.” 

You don’t need to be told twice.  You roll over onto your knees, trying to ignore the jelly-like consistency of your legs, and crawl your way up to him.  Misha places a palm on your behind, encourages you forward, smiling gently.

“I’ll give you what you need, baby girl,” he purrs as you straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.  He abandons his cock in favour of touching you, no longer teasing, and slides two fingers along your wet folds.

“Ohh,” you moan, letting your head fall forward, eyes closed, to press your forehead against Misha’s as he slides those fingers back and forth.  God it feels so good to finally have him touch you.  His thumbs finds your clitoris and your legs almost give with jolt of electricity that shoots through them when he stimulates it with a firm, circular motion.  A thick finger slides inside of you simultaneously with ease, into your wet, inviting heat, quickly followed by a second. 

Before you know it you’re gasping and rocking on Misha’s hand, chasing his fingers as they slide in and out, curling inside of you to hit all the right spots.  He kisses your mouth, kisses your cheek, drags his stubble across your tender skin on the way to bite your earlobe, your back bending in ecstasy.

“Does my little girl want her Daddy to fuck her?”  he asks in a growl, those fingers scissoring you open to make room for the ample girth that’s leaking against his stomach.

“Fuck, yes,” you groan in reply, pushing back against his fingers.  There’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more in the world than Misha’s cock inside you at this moment in time. 

The firm spank of Misha’s hand against your round bottom takes you completely by surprise; you cry out, short and sharp like the slap, eyes flying wide open.  He withdraws his fingers too, leaving a horrid, aching emptiness inside, and you know you’ve displeased him. 

You lean back to look at him cautiously, worrying your bottom lip as the initial sting turns into a dull, wonderful throb.

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” he warns, eyes narrowed, “It’s too pretty for naughty words like that.” 

You open your mouth to reply but Misha beats you to it; he rushes forward to smash his mouth against yours, tangling his hand into your hair so tight that it tugs whilst the other grabs at your ass and positions his cock between your legs.  Every muscle inside you clenches in anticipation, waiting for that sweet moment when -

Misha pulls you down onto his cock, splits you open with one savage thrust upward to bury himself to the hilt with a grunt, and the flash of pleasure that comes with it is so intense it makes you dizzy.   

You cry out, clinging onto his muscular back as he begins a pounding rhythm, burying your head against his shoulder.  Considering he’s the one underneath Misha is still an entirely dominant force, thrusting up into you so hard that you’re bouncing on his lap like a rag-doll, useless except for the noises of pleasure that burst out of you with every movement of his hips. 

“You feel so-“ Misha huffs, grunting, digging his nails into your still-stinging as cheek, “So fucking good, baby girl,” he praises, “Your tiny little pussy, fuck, so fucking tight.”  For someone that doesn’t want you to swear, Misha sure does a lot of it. 

Each thrust feels incredible, and as you get used to the size of him you start to push down to meet him, greedy for more.  You seek out his lips again and kiss him sloppily, laving your tongue around the cavern of his mouth and swallowing his moans, the knot in your stomach getting tighter with each passing minute and each circle of your hips. 

“Daddy…” You gasp against him, scrunching your eyes tight.  You’re getting close, so close, rocking back and forth on him as he squeezes your hips so hard it hurts, “Daddy, daddy, please…”

“You going to cum for me baby?”  Misha slurs, lust-drunk, “Cum on Daddy’s cock.” 

That tangled knot inside of you, coiled so tight, snaps at his words.  You cum, body spasming, thighs clamping down around Misha as the walls of your pussy does the same, and Misha holds you tightly through it, lavishing you with praise as you come down.  You’re shaking as he continues slow, lazy thrusts up and inside. 

“Feel better?” he asks, corners of his mouth curling up into a smile, thumbing your cheek.  You nod sluggishly, face plastered in a silly smile.  ‘Better’ is an understatement.   “Good.” 

The kiss that he plants on you then is almost tender, sugary sweet, and it feels like your heart is trying to escape through your chest to go to him, breathless when he pulls away.

“Turn over for me, get on your knees,” Misha tells you, and through the haze of alcohol and sleepiness and pleasure you obey.  You climb off his cock and shuffle round, facing away from him on your knees, eyes closed and still smiling.  You feel him palm your ass, the left cheek, the one that’s still smarting and pink, and then gently pushes the back of your shoulder to lean you forward, onto your elbows. 

Misha’s thighs meet the back of yours.  He grabs an ass cheek in each hand and spreads you, knocking your legs opens so wide that your cheek falls onto the duvet to support yourself, and then drags the head of his dick, excruciatingly slowly, from the very top to bottom.  It’s so hot, still slick with the remnants of your orgasm and it helps ease the growing soreness as he slips back inside of you, burying himself with a groan. 

Back and forth he goes, slow and steady but _hard_ , even deeper than before, jolting you forward with every push.  Your harsh breathing is part smothered by the blankets that you’re clutching onto, but Misha’s rip from his throat freely. 

“You’re mine, baby girl, you know that, don’t you?” Misha grunts with a particularly forceful thrust, the head of his cock smacking into your cervix, “This perfect little cunt is just for me, just for Daddy, you hear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp, arching your back, pushing back against him.  No one else could fuck you this good, never.  Why would you ever want anyone else ever again?  Just Daddy, only him.   

The sound of skin slapping is the only thing that breaks up the sound of ragged breathing.  You’re so in tune with the noises Misha makes that you can tell if and when he’s biting his lips, trying to hold back, or pursing them together. 

The blunt tip of Misha’s thumb presses against your asshole and you feel like you’re going to rip your sheets, you grab at them so hard. 

“Have you ever-?”  Misha’s doesn’t even need to finish the question.

“No, Daddy,” you tell him quickly, squirming against the pressure there, unfamiliar but welcome all the same.

“Good,” he grunts roughly, slamming his hips forward and grunting again, “One day I’m gonna stretch this little virgin hole around my cock-“  You’ve never wanted to reel off a litany of swear words more in your life. “-And fill it so full of your Daddy’s cum you’ll be leaking for a week.” 

You cry out wordlessly into the duvet, half sobbing because you’re so overwhelmed by his promises of pleasure still to come. 

“You want that baby girl?” he asks, leaning forward and placing a kiss against your spine, spearing you on his length again.  He’s still placing kiss after kiss against your back when you manage a nod, reduced to a mindless mess, throbbing from head to toe, your body on fire underneath his hands.  “You want Daddy’s cum?”

“P-please,” you stutter, wrenching your head to this side and managing to open one eye to look up and back at him from under your eyelashes.

That does it then, Misha’s pace turns fast and unrelenting, fucking you so hard that it blanks out everything else.  All you can focus on is the growing fire between your legs, deep in your pelvis, throbbing and burning and your stomach is knotting again so tight.  He’s going to make you cum again, you know it, and God, it feels so good. 

“Fuck,” Misha gasps, and it starts to feel even better as his cock gets even harder, swelling ready to burst, “Fuck, yes, baby girl, my baby.”  He’s rambling, pace faltering, grabbing on to you so hard it’ll leave bruises, so close.  You slam yourself back against him, spurring him on, desperate to hear him cum, to feel it pour out into you.

You cum again, so hard that white flashes behind your eyes, shouting,

“Daddy!”

You’re shaking, trembling and limp in his grasp as he gets himself there, and when he finally cums, a long, stuttering moan ripping from his throat, you’re glad that you’re just about coherent enough to fully appreciate it.  You count every little pulse of his dick, adoring the warmth of his cum as it fills you.  There’s so much of it that some seeps out to dribble, thick and warm, down your thigh as he collapses on top of you, panting heavily. 

You let your knees give out from underneath you, sinking down to lie prone on the mattress so your body is covered entirely by Misha’s, both shimmering with a sheen of sweat.  He brushes your hair off of the back of your neck and starts to press light, feathery kisses against it as you both recover, all gentle sweetness, and nudges his nose against your shoulder as you hum happily. 

“What happens now?” you ask after a few minutes have passed, just enjoying the press of his body and the way seems in no rush to disconnect your bodies.  He reaches up, one hand finding yours and linking your fingers together to give them a squeeze. 

“What do you want to happen?” he asks, answering your question with another question and making you huff a laugh of frustration.  He pulls out, gingerly, and then settles himself down on his front with his arms folded under his head to regard you with a tender smile and sincerity shining his eyes. 

You smile a little, unsure, stomach twisting nervously.  You want him to stay, of course you do, but how do you tell him that?  What if this was just sex for him?  Oh God, work would be so awkward…

Misha must be a mind-reader; he presses his lips to yours in a slow, sweet kiss, his palm pressing to your cheek and caressing it, allaying all your fears.  By the time he moves away the smile that had started off so small and nervous has spread across your whole face, wide and beaming, heart fluttering in your chest. The corners of his beautiful eyes crinkle with happiness at the words you utter next;

“Tuck me in again, Daddy?” 


End file.
